


w i l d  o n e s

by xoxogossipenjolras (tiptoes)



Series: up in smoke [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Les Mis AU, Multi, superhero au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoes/pseuds/xoxogossipenjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a new Super in the city, a Super that flies – really flies – and she wants to see them.</p><p>(Les Mis Super!AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	w i l d  o n e s

_Thursday_

Cosette steps out onto the roof of her apartment block and lets the night air hit her face. The cold weaves through the fabric of her costume and sends chills right down to her bones. She walks to stand on the ledge of the building, looking down on the blinking lights of the city below her and breathes, warmth gathering at her shoulders and fingers.

She slips the leathery cowl over her head and fastens it to her hood. Her hair glints silver in the moonlight, and she quickly draws up her hood to hide the colour. She spreads her arms out, feeling the feathers fan out over her joints and down her shoulder blades. She exhales.

And the Lark flies.

* * *

As the night goes on, it gets warmer. It’s a quiet night too, for a change. Cosette thinks she even catches a glimpse of a vigilante they call Apollo, with his gleaming gold hair and suit that shines like armor. She thinks she might have seen his eyes glow from under his gilded mask, though it might just be her imagination.

(You could say that Cosette idolizes Apollo. She remembers seeing the TV broadcast of when Apollo emerged victorious from his first battle, surrounded by ash and flames that licked up neck and face but didn't harm him. She had researched everything she could about this man – someone with the Gift, like her – but found nothing. But there is a reason he wears a mask, after all.)

Cosette enjoys flying, swooping above the skyline and between the buildings. The wind rustles the material of her cape, whistling through the black coffee feathers of her wings. She lands on the gargoyle of a bank and surveys the city. She can see the sun peak over the horizon, and begins to plan her way back home early, when she hears a scuffle below.

She hangs precariously off the edge, trying to see what’s going on. Cosette’s never really been one for violence, but she’ll smash some faces in if she has to.

She sees a glint of a knife and a responding cry, and she’s already spread her wings to bring her boots down on his face. She feels the sharp pain of her wings folding back into her skin, into her bones, and reels her fist back. She kicks the knife out of the man’s hand and punches him squarely in the jaw.

He goes down like a sack of bricks. Cosette exhales, and almost jumps when she feels the cool press of steel against her cheek.

The man holding the blade chuckles in a way he might think intimidating, but it’s nothing Cosette hasn’t experienced before. Dressed in costume or not. She takes a calming breath and turns slowly to face the man.

“What do you want from me?” she asks, pitching her voice high and wavering. Cosette has always played the innocent one – it’s all anyone has expected from her – until they underestimate her.

They underestimate her right up until she breaks them.

“Aren't you a pretty little thing,” he croons, reaching to touch her costume, and the blade cracks beneath her fingers. Realization dawns upon the man’s face that he has chosen the wrong battle, and he crumples beneath her fist with a pathetic whimper on his lips. Cosette laughs.

The shadow that passes over her does not.

* * *

Her lithe figure cuts a swift line above the maze of buildings. Her eyes flicker with the light of the pale moon, and she can almost hear the wolves turn to howl at it over the wind whistling by her ears. Warm blood coursing like lightning through her veins, she kicks off the edge of a building, twisting through the air.

The small, thin scales of metal of her costume, fine like a wolf’s coat, ripple like water over the movement; the scales of armour shifting and clicking back together. The steel tips of her boots clink heavily on the concrete as she lands on the next roof, and she rolls with the landing. The running and the chasing barely tires her anymore, she's been doing this for years.

She readjusts the snout of her mask that stops just above her mouth, always dripping with red. Montparnasse used to say that the mask was no use – nobody cares about secret identities anymore, and Eponine isn't exactly _Batman_ – but Eponine likes the feel of it. This identity – running on rooftops, chasing down men like her father, wearing the costume – makes her feel free in a way nothing else can. It's hers and hers alone.

Besides, image is important when you’re trying to intimidate baddies, and the security of a mask is important when you’re beating them up.

Montparnasse is one of the few people that knows about the whole Super situation, and he even named her, calling her “wolf girl” ever since she was five and he was eight, and “Lupa” ever since she donned that mask. She can feel his magic thrum throughout the costume as she breaks out into a run again. His magic isn't strong, not strong like the witches and wizards that save the world in comic books, but strong enough. He’s good at making things too – a real inventor of sorts. Eponine's parents pick out children like Montparnasse, ones with nothing - no parents, nobody to miss them, and no money - but they have the Gift. Montparnasse can lace his voice with his magic, making it irresistibly charming, and through that he always gets what he wants. He made Eponine's suit as an apology gift – the first apology gift that Eponine's received that hasn't been stolen – but for what she doesn't know. Eponine hopes it’s for something, at least. The last person you want to be in debt to is Montparnasse.

She drops down from one building to the next, and suddenly wishes that she wore a cape. She tried to wear one once, but it restricts movement and gets caught on things. Eponine can appreciate how they look, though, and how useful it would be to glide from building to building without the impact of boots hitting concrete. And Eponine’s seen a new Super in the city that wears one; a Super that flies – really flies – and Eponine wants to see them.

A crunch of bone echoes around the empty streets, and Eponine turns her head sharply to the sound. She takes two long bounds and jumps onto the roof on her left to see what’s happening, crouching low against the ledge. She sees the shadow of a small figure being held at knifepoint, and she’s just about to leap to save them when she sees the blade clatter against the ground, broken.

“What in the hell,” she mutters, and hangs by her fingers to catch a glimpse of what’s happening. The man who was holding the knife goes down after a single punch, and Eponine whistles appreciatively. The other person pushes her hood back, and her light hair catches the moonlight in a way that makes Eponine’s fingers slip.

“Fuck,” she whispers, scrambling against the wall to regain her grip. She kicks off the window ledge to flip back up onto the roof, and heaves a relieved sigh when she lands.

Below her, Cosette looks up, but sees nothing. She jumps onto the fire escape and climbs up quickly, but there’s nothing to be found on the roof but the howling wind.

Eponine is already gone.

* * *

_Friday_

“Come on, Cosette,” Jehan says, tugging on her arm with a laugh. “It’s only one day.”

Cosette sighs, but lets herself be dragged along. Jehan had promised her that he’ll let her go off if she _absolutely_ needs to, but she doubts he will. He’s been worried about her, she can tell, and she’s grateful for that. Her father’s been out of town again, so Jehan’s been over almost every day to see how she is. Sometimes he brings Courfeyrac, who waltzes around with her in the corridors and helps her with homework and tells her stupid jokes and makes her laugh.

It’s a stark contrast from her “night life”.

She can see the brightly lit bar from across the road, and realizes that she’s never been there before. “What’s this place called?” She asks as Jehan stops to press the button at the crossing.

“The Musain,” he says, and tugs on her hand again when the light turns green. “It just opened a couple of months ago. Courf goes there with his classmates all the time.”

“Talk of the devil,” Cosette says, grinning when Courfeyrac steps out of the bar. “And he shall appear,” he finishes, bowing low.

“Hello princess,” he says cheekily, and turns to Jehan. “Hello, white knight,” he says nipping him lightly on the lip. Jehan flushes and grins brilliantly, pushing the door open. “Come on, little lark. Time to loosen up.”

* * *

Eponine looks up as the door jingles, and sees that it’s just Courfeyrac and couple of other people. Eponine recognizes one to be Courfeyrac’s boyfriend, a slight thing, with a long auburn braid down his back and wearing the most sinfully tight pair of jeans Eponine has ever seen. The girl with them isn’t a face Eponine knows, but there’s something about her that Eponine thinks she recognizes. 

“Hey R,” Eponine says, leaning over the bar. “Do you know that girl?”

Grantaire looks up from polishing a glass and scans the room. “The blonde one?” he asks, and Eponine nods. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “She’s friends with Jehan, though, so I might’ve seen them around town together.”

“Hey guys,” Courfeyrac greets, stepping up onto the bar. “How you doing?” Eponine grins toothily at Courfeyrac, ruffling his hair. “I’m alright, you?”

“Aww I’m doing fine,” he says. “What about you, R? How’s your art thing coming along?”

“Well enough,” Grantaire says, hanging the glass on a hook behind the bar. He leans forward on the bar in thought, and sighs. “I still need a main piece though. The teacher says it needs to be, like, a _big_ piece. I need to buy some new paints, too.” Grantaire groans loudly, and a couple sitting at the bar turn to glare at him.

He gives them a thumbs up.

“Aaaanyway,” he drawls, straightening up. “Did you want a drink or something?”

“Yeah,” Courfeyrac says, hopping off the bar top. “Can we have three beers and a couple of cocktails please?” Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “You got a preference?”

Courfeyrac taps his foot in thought. “Surprise me,” he finally says. “Make it something fruity.” 

Grantaire disappears behind the bar again, and Courfeyrac takes a seat on a stool instead of jumping up onto the bar top again. “Who’s Jehan’s friend?” Eponine asks, nodding towards the blonde. 

Courfeyrac hums. “You mean Cosette? Yeah, they’re in the same literature class, or something. She’s cool; I think you’d like her.”

“I feel like I know her from somewhere…” Eponine mutters, but Courfeyrac doesn’t hear her. “You hear about that new Super in town?” he asks. “People are saying she even _flies_.”

Eponine hums, “I might’ve actually seen her around.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widen almost comically. “ _No_ ,” he gasps, gripping Eponine’s arm. “You are _kidding_ me.”

“Who’s kidding who?” Grantaire asks, sliding over a tray of drinks. “Is this about the new Super?” Eponine picks up the tray and rolls her eyes. “Has _everybody_ heard about the new guy then?”

“Well _duh_ ,” Courfeyrac says, hot on Eponine’s footsteps. “We heard she stopped that bank robbery last week, and saved some rich dude. She’s making the inspector really mad.” Inspector Javert was known for his public dislike of Supers. Some said he was just bitter for not having the Gift, others said that he’d been foiled by one of the Gifted before. Either way, he worked himself to the bone trying to figure out who each of the Supers were.

“Then she’d better watch out,” Eponine sings, and sets the drinks down on the little table Courfeyrac and his friends usually crowd around.

“Hey guys,” she greets, and receives a resounding chorus of “hey”s back. Jehan winks up at Eponine and turns to his friend.

“Cosette? This is Eponine. I don’t think you guys have met.” Cosette looks up at Eponine and smiles prettily. “Hi there,” she says, and reaches out to shake Eponine’s hand. “I’m Cosette.”

“Eponine,” Eponine replies, and returns the handshake. Cosette’s hands are warm, but rough and calloused. “You hear about that new Super?”

Combeferre looks up suddenly, pushing his thick glasses up his nose. “Who _hasn’t_ heard of her? She’s not exactly being inconspicuous, is she? We’ve got to hand it to her though; she’s doing well for a rookie. Two weeks in and a stopped bank theft and a still-alive rich dude? Even Enjolras is impressed.”

“He’s been keeping tabs on her, then?” Grantaire asks, appearing from behind Eponine. She glares at him, and looks pointedly at the bar. Grantaire shrugs. “My shift’s over. Bahorel should be here soon, anyway.”

Eponine still doesn’t lower her glare. “Why is it that every time Enjolras is mentioned, you appear?” 

“Why is it that every time someone needs an annoying little shit, _you_ appear?” he retorts, but Eponine can see him blushing all the way to his ears. Grantaire looks to the side, and sees Combeferre looking at him thoughtfully from over his glasses, and turns to glare at Eponine’s grinning face in return.

“I hate you so much,” he whispers, and she laughs loudly.

“No you don’t,” she says, patting him on the cheek. “You really don’t.”

Suddenly, there’s a crash by the door, and half of the group have leapt to their feet. But it’s only Bahorel, who missed the door entirely and almost fell through the window 

Feuilly walks in behind him, laughing manically.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls at Grantaire and Courfeyrac, who are falling over themselves trying not to laugh. Cosette looks at Jehan worriedly, but he calmly pats her hand. “Don’t worry about him,” he says. “He tends to be like that.” Jehan turns to Grantaire, and says, “R, could you help him at the bar for a bit?”

Grantaire moves to get up, still trying to hide his laughter behind the collar of his shirt, but it’s Eponine that offers to help Bahorel. Feuilly winks cheekily at her as he takes her vacated seat, and she rolls her eyes at him.

Bahorel’s got the Gift. He has impenetrable skin and super strength, to boot. He isn’t a Super, it’s not the life for him, and he has a knack for attracting trouble. He’s a punch first, ask questions later kind of guy. That’s one of the reasons Eponine likes him. He never treats her like a kid, even though he’s five years older than most of his friends – besides Feuilly.

She finds him slumped down behind the counter, almost snoring. She kicks him lightly in the side until he blinks up at her, and she thinks he almost snarls.

“You are not a _dog_ , Bahorel.” She says, moving the take the first aid kit from beside him. “Let’s patch you up.”

“I don’t need _patching_ ,” he groans, and Eponine rolls her eyes.

“Fine, but you do need cleaning. You expect to be serving people fruity drinks with blood crusted over your knuckles?” he groans in response, but lets her wipe his hands clean anyway. “So,” she says conversationally. “Who’ve you been punching recently?” 

“Just… _People_ ,” he replies, and she nods. “Ah yes. I know _people_ very well. _People_ do deserve a good punching, I feel.” Bahorel laughs at her, reaching up with his clean hand to ruffle her short hair, and furrows his brow.

“Hey, when did you chop off all your hair, girl?”

Eponine runs her fingers through the cropped locks, grimacing. “My kid brother put gum in it last week, thought it was _funny_ , or something. Little brat didn’t think, did he? So I had to cut it off. ‘Sides, I looked stupid with a bob, so I went for something shorter.”

“Suits you, wolf girl.” He says. “You finally gonna get a cowl?”

Eponine laughs, standing to drag him up to his feet. “For the last time, _dumbass_ , I am _not_ Batman. Stop trying to live vicariously through my Super escapades, _please_.”

They stand up to find Enjolras behind the counter, who smiles when he sees them.

“Good,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I was starting to think you both ran off together. I didn’t want to be the one to break the news to Feuilly.”

Bahorel laughs and Eponine hip checks him. “Shut up, _Enj_ ,” she teases and he glares.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh sorry,” Bahorel says. “Terribly sorry, oh fearless leader.”

Eponine snorts and Enjolras gives them a _look_.

“I will walk out of here, don’t think I won’t.”

“Fine, fine. What would you like, _Enjolras_?” Bahorel asks, and Enjolras shifts his gaze to look at the chalkboard above the bar.

“Could I get a coffee? Just black, two sugars."

Eponine grimaces. “Black coffee is the drink of the _devil_ ,” she says, and he laughs. “If you say so. Hey, you hear about–”

“The new super? Jesus christ, if I had a dollar for every time I get asked that question…” Eponine rolls her eyes. “But yes, I have heard. You gonna track her down?”

Enjolras rolls his shoulder. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “We’ll give her a while. But she’d better not screw this up, or we _will_ find her.”

Eponine gulps, feeling Enjolras’ unwavering steel gaze burn into her. Her eyes flit to where Grantaire is watching them, and he gives her a half-smile and a shrug. He hasn’t told Enjolras a thing about Lupa, Eponine realizes, and thanks every god that Grantaire is as loyal as Enjolras is honorable.

Because Eponine knows the warning extends to her as well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> tumblr: xoxogossipenjolras
> 
> graphic: http://xoxogossipenjolras.tumblr.com/post/53689584819/up-in-smoke-a-les-mis


End file.
